Of Knives and Smiles
by Jelly Kid
Summary: Nameless tribute is chased by Careers and wants to be remembered. I couldn't decide on a district or gender, so I left it up to the reader. One-shot, not a happy ending but that's only to be expected in the Hunger Games. Different from my other fics.


**I wrote this whole fic today, it took what seems like forever but looking at the preview it takes up one page. One page! If you ask me, that's just sad. **

**Like it says in the summary (I suck at limiting myself when writing summaries, as can be observed in my fic "Bitter Rain Paying for its Mistakes"), there is no happy ending here. I've always like writing stories where the one line at the end leaves you wanting more, but I don't really enjoy reading them. That, my dear reader(s)(please let there be more than one of you!), is why you are able to press a miraculous button at the bottom of the page labeled, "Review". It's a wonderful invention which I've used a few times now, and hopefully you'll give it a try as well.**

**Now if you'll excuse me, I do believe I'll log off for the day. My computer screen is giving me a headache. but remember what i said about that button!**

* * *

_They're coming._

The ones who hate me, my survival, the very fact that I exist, are coming for me now. The real games, the ones that took place on cameras for the Capitol audience, are over now. Now there are no games, only a slaughter of defenseless children who did nothing to deserve what was presented to them. Poison disguised as something sweet, that's all this hell is.

The snap of a twig from behind alerts me to my plight, which is certain death. My fingers tighten around the knife I am holding, which has become slippery with sweat. The least I can do is taken as many of them down with me as I can. Then maybe, just maybe, my district partner can win. Maybe I'll be able to make this a fair game, a game which anyone can win. Anyone who isn't a Career, at least. These horrible people who have spent their lives training themselves to kill others deserve nothing more than death and pain and everything else that is sure to consume me in a few short moments.

More snaps can be heard. Closer now. I continue to run, and curse loudly when I stumble upon a fast flowing river that certainly wasn't here when I trekked through a few hours ago. Its waters are fast enough to sweep me downstream, into the sharp rocks of the landscape that previously seemed to have no purpose. They had been easy enough to climb, and they wouldn't have been too much trouble to walk around. The Gamemakers are toying with me, as if the loss of my life is nothing but an amusement to them.

Which it is, of course.

Only to them, though, and those with their sick mindset. The careers will find my death much more amusing than the ones in the Capitol will. Not only will it add another kill to the statistics that are kept throughout the Games, but they will be one step closer to surviving, to getting out of here. Although I will be out of here much faster than they will, even if I won't be alive for it. That much I am certain of, more sure of than I have been about anything in my life, a life which won't last very long if these people; no, these _things_ have anything to do with it.

I turn around, my finely made boots making indentations in the mud. I want to watch the murderers as they take the gift of life from me, want to see if I can find a tiny glimmer of remorse in their eyes. I want to see if this is all just a game to them.

The snapping stops, and I see _them_ coming. _Them_, the ones who are willing to kill, who _hav_e killed, all for the sake of this sick situation that we have entered, whether it be by accident or design.

The tallest of the group steps forward, smiling. She seems to be the leader of the group. She continues to smile as she speaks to me, making some witty remark, I'm sure, but the words don't register. Sounds mean less than nothing to me now, it is her smile that I have become fixated on. Her face is smeared with the blood of another, and she holds some sort of sleek, plastic Capitol weapon. That doesn't fully register, either. All I can see is her smiling face as she stands there, surrounded by other children, other teens, with blood and the need for more of it written upon their faces.

Her smile is what undoes me. It is so sick, so twisted, and such a strange thing to see in a place like this that I know that this girl will feel no remorse as she kills me in front of thousands of people, live on television. It nearly breaks me, and I feel the urge to throw myself onto the mud of this riverbed and beg for mercy, beg for a chance to be a part of her pack of Careers.

I resist this foolish impulse, knowing full well that they won't listen. They will laugh, and I will be forced to watch similar smiles appear on their faces, faces so young and yet so hungry for death.

I refuse to be remembered as the tribute who begged for mercy and a chance to belong, to stay in this hell for a little longer under the pretense that I might be able to win. I will be remembered as the one who was silent while being killed. I've wished it to be so since the very beginning, to be remembered as something, someone, even if I couldn't win. But now, as I stand here and watch as the smile continues to speak and presumably bark orders, I realize that silence will not be enough. As the two flanking her on her right pull swords from their sheaths, I don't believe that silence will even be possible. Frantically, I begin thinking. Taking them down is not an option anymore, is not even realistic, not with their numbers. My attempts at murder would be pathetic, and would result only in their grinning faces.

They are still approaching, and it only takes a few seconds for my adrenaline-fueled mind to think of something that will surely be remembered in the years to come. As far as I know, I've never seen any tribute do what I am about to.

* * *

Riveted, the citizens of the Capitol watch as the tribute grips the knife harder, and with a look of determination, lifts it only to drive the blade down. It drives right through the chest of the one who wields it, and blood flows freely from the deadly wound. The citizens rush to their phones before the cannon sounds, wanting to discuss what has just occurred. Never before have any of them seen a tribute take its own life.

* * *

A world away, a mother watches as her child falls heavily onto the bank of the river, before the body is obscured by Careers attempting to see if anything is of worth. They find only an empty water bottle and some sort of dried meat which has been crushed by the weight of the body. Not needing any more of things that they already have, they throw the pack into the river before walking away, where it is soon shredded by the angry tips of the rocks peering out of the water.

The woman chokes back a sob as her child is rolled over and picked up by a hovercraft, which has come with more speed than usual. She knows that the face will be forever burned into her memory.

She will never forget the smile upon her child's face.

* * *

**Like I said, it's not happy. I feel as though the ending sentence would have been better with a "her" or a "his" in place of "her child's", but I didn't really want to think about whether or not a boy or girl would have committed suicide, because it's really a matter of character. hope you thought that the quality of writing was good, though. R****eview!**


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